


Strays

by Kryptaria, rayvanfox



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Fluff, Kittens, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 01:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3509696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kryptaria/pseuds/Kryptaria, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayvanfox/pseuds/rayvanfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waking in the middle of the night to intercept an intruder isn't supposed to change your life, but when James Bond finds an unlikely visitor with an even more unlikely 'gift', his life with Q takes an unexpected turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strays

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to our wonderful betas, ahappilee, neverwhere, scriptrixlatinae, and zephyrfox!

Home was a refuge. Stout locks and a metal door helped, as did the sort of state-of-the-art alarm system usually found in government research centres with black budgets and guards who wore uniforms with no identifying badges. Home was the one place James Bond, also known as Her Majesty’s most pain-in-the-arse assassin, could sleep comfortably.

Home was the bed he shared with Q, even if Q did steal the blankets. At least cuddling a blanket-wrapped Q gave James a measure of affection. Not to mention warmth, since he could usually worm his way under a corner.

Just because it was home, though — just because it was _secure_ — didn’t mean James didn’t come awake at the first soft metal-on-metal scrape at the front door. Followed by... a _sneeze?_

James unwrapped his limbs from around Q’s sleeping form, watched him shiver then curl up tighter as he burrowed further into the blankets, and got slowly out of bed. He grabbed his gun out of the bedside table drawer and silently made his way to the foyer.

Proximity made the next sneeze louder, though not so loud that it covered another metal scrape — the deadbolt — followed by a light _ting_. Presumably, that was a falling lockpick.

Wonderful. They were being burgled by a thief with the flu.

The question now was whether to attack first, or wait for them to enter and then scare them with a gun to their head. James decided to wait so he wouldn’t wake Q with a brawl. He stepped just inside the kitchen doorway and waited, his gun armed and ready, for the burglar to enter.

The next sneeze sounded weird, with a squeak at the end that was... well, it was almost _cute_. “Fucking fuck,” a voice muttered, and there were definitely stuffed-up sinuses involved. Then the lockpicks went back to scraping, this time with more dexterity. It only took about twenty seconds longer for the burglar to undo the deadbolt than James would’ve needed.

Flu or not, the burglar had experience. That was something, at least.

The door cracked open, swinging on silent hinges, but no one entered immediately. Breathing steady, heart rate nearly as low as if he were meditating, James waited, senses on high alert.

Finally, a footstep. Something came into view... A cardboard box?

James blinked. What sort of burglar carried a cardboard box in preparation for hauling off... what? Maybe a toaster — nothing bigger would fit. And though Q had made multiple modifications to their toaster, it wasn’t actually a valuable item. Not to anyone else. James waited a couple more heartbeats before he took aim, just as the owner of the box stepped past the door frame.

And then he froze, because it was _Q_. _His_ Q, only a drowned-rat version, with dark hair plastered to his head and a leather jacket that had soaked up so much water, it was dripping. He got the box into one arm just in time to lift his other hand and sneeze into his sleeve.

“Goddamn fucking _shit_ ,” he muttered. And the voice wasn’t _precisely_ Q’s.

James blinked, then looked closely at his hands on the gun. They looked normal, like his own, so he wasn’t dreaming. There was someone in his house who looked exactly like Q. It might have been real, but it didn’t make sense.

Very quietly and steadily he said, “Put the box down and your hands up.”

There was a squeak that sounded suspiciously like it came from the box, not from the lookalike burglar, who turned red-rimmed eyes to blink pathetically in James’ direction. “ _You’re_ the bloke he’s shagging?” the burglar asked, two rings through his lower lip gleaming in the faint light coming in from the living room window. There was a matching ring through one nostril and another in his eyebrow, barely visible under his soaked hair. Which, now that James looked more closely, seemed to be dark blue rather than dark brown.

“I’m the bloke with a gun, so do as I say or I’ll stop being polite about it.” There was a certain something about the intruder’s insouciance that had James more bemused than annoyed, even at the dismissiveness of his and Q’s relationship. Maybe it was because there seemed to be little doubt that this person knew Q. Didn’t mean James was ready to put his gun away. Not until he knew more — at least what was in the box.

“Yeah, shoot me and Q will wreck your” — another sneeze — “fucking credit rating. Take this fucking deathtrap away from me, will you, mate?” He went to shove the box at James, ignoring the gun completely.

The box squeaked again.

No, not squeaked. _Meowed_.

Instead of taking the box, James took a step back and kept the gun pointed at, well, at the box by default, since it was blocking centre-of-mass for the intruder. “On the floor. Both of you.”

When the evil mirror-universe version of Q leaned down, all sorts of things rattled, more in a punk-chic way than an ominous armed-to-the-teeth manner. Then he took two steps back away from the box as if it contained a meowing bomb, sneezed again (missing his sleeve), and said, “I need a fucking drink. Maybe a towel. Where’s my fucking lazy-ass brother? And why the fuck aren’t you wearing pants?”

“Because some boyfriend impersonator woke me in the middle of the night with the most non-stealthy break-in imaginable.” James couldn’t care less about his nudity. He lowered his gun to kneecap height — even as the word _brother_ registered — because there was still adrenaline in his system, and he didn’t know enough yet to feel safe. “He’s asleep — which hasn’t occurred in two days — and as far as I know, you don’t exist.”

“That’s ’cause I was shagging the most fucking gorgeous girl, and she got a fucking text alert about her damned —” He gestured at the box, which was meowing even more plaintively. His nails, James noticed, were painted black. “Fucking shit landlord. Bar over there?” he asked, gesturing towards the living room before heading that way.

None of that made coherent sense, and James was tempted to wake Q and make him translate, but 009’s mission had been gruelling for the last forty-eight hours, and he didn’t have the heart. He sighed and followed the random sibling from the darkside to the living room doorway so he could maintain line-of-sight. He stayed within a few feet of the sentient box, just in case.

“What do you think you’re doing _here?_ ”

“Saving my fucking life. Not my fucking sex life, because she’s crying into her wine or something about losing her babies,” the evil twin said in disgust as he went right for the top shelf vodka that Alec kept in the fridge under the bar for bad mission recovery. “I can’t keep those fucking walking death-bombs. I’ll die. And Q will never fucking forgive you. So do your goddamn job and save the Motherland or some shit.” He uncapped the vodka bottle and raised it as if fully planning to skip a glass.

“Christ,” James muttered. He walked over and snatched the bottle from the sniffling idiot, then poured the bastard a drink. “If you’re that bloody allergic, you should be drinking water, not vodka.”

“Fish fuck in water, arsehole.” Then he threw back the entire drink in two swallows, followed by a sniffle.

James blinked, then poured himself a stiff glass of scotch. He was clearly going to need it.

“James? _Zed?_ ” Agent and burglar both turned to see Q leaning against the doorway, blinking sleepily. He was wrapped in the duvet, hair sticking up in every possible direction.

“Darling.” James went to Q, his drink forgotten. “I’m sorry we woke you.”

Q made that sleepy noise that James loved so much and half-collapsed against James’ chest, hiding his face against James’ neck. “Why is Zed here? You’re not ready.” More loudly, he added, “I told you, he’s not ready for you.”

“Sod off,” the evil twin shouted from the bar, where he was probably making more inroads on the vodka. “It was an emergency. Fucking hottest bird ever chained to my bed, only she safeworded because of a bloody text from her landlord, and we rushed out so fast I forgot my cock, and now she’s trying to kill me with _kittens_.”

The incoherence coming out of the brother’s — Zed’s? — mouth was getting more alarming by the second, but Q was warm against James’ chest and seemed unfazed by what he heard. Only that Zed was here before — apparently — Q thought James was ready. He wrapped his arms around Q’s waist and kissed the top of his head, murmuring, “Shall I throw him out so you can sleep?”

Q shook his head, hair rasping against the side of James’ face. “Allergies,” he mumbled, getting one arm out of the duvet to give James a hug.

“Yep. So congrats. You two are the proud fucking dads of a fucking herd of allergy-makers.” Bootsteps warned James not to flinch at Zed’s approach, though he still twitched when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. “Throw a baby shower or some shit. Just don’t fucking invite me.”

Q lifted his head just enough to look past James. “ _How many_ is a herd?”

“Fuck if I know. Cheers.” Zed headed for the foyer, obviously intending to make his escape.

“Oi. That’s it?” James wanted to chase after the idiot and teach him some manners, but he was Q’s family. And he wasn’t sure Q would be able to stand if he let go. “How long do you expect us to keep them?”

Zed was already stepping over the box, which was moving suspiciously. And ominously, the flaps on top had come open. There were possibly kittens at large in the flat already. “Cats live... what? Fifteen, twenty years?” he called back cheerfully. “The mum’s in there, too, so you don’t even have to feed them.”

 _Christ._ This was bloody absurd. James insisted on holding out the faintest hope that this whole thing was a dream.

He kissed Q’s temple and pulled away from him slowly, making sure he’d support himself. Then he followed the kitten-delivery punk to the front door, saying, “One day. You’re fortunate to be alive right now, so don’t press your luck.”

Zed flipped two fingers at him without turning. “And get a new fucking lock. Keep my brother safe, will you? Mr Secret Fucking Agent,” he muttered as he opened the door.

“Zed,” Q called as he shuffled unsteadily towards the foyer.

 _That_ got the brother to turn around, his drowned-rabid-dire-rat expression turning soft. “Yeah, mate?”

“Did you hack our alarm system?” Q asked mildly.

Zed flinched. “Only a little. I’ll put it back.”

“And?” This question came out stern, and Q gave that _look_ he usually reserved for agents who didn’t even bring back a pen, much less their full Q Branch-issued kit.

“And... I’ll email you how I hacked it to begin with?”

Q smiled. “Thank you.”

James had tried not to smirk while watching Q’s brother lose all his bravado, but found he couldn’t help feeling for the poor sod. Was dealing with this prick the reason Q never seemed ruffled when confronted with half-feral Double O’s? Suddenly, things about Q that he’d never thought to question were slotting into place. Context could bring a wealth of understanding. Didn’t mean James liked this Zed character any more.

He opened the door as an unsubtle hint, and said, “I’d say it was nice to meet you if it had been.”

“Yeah, whatever. Go fuck my brother and make it up to him,” Zed suggested, stalking out.

As James closed and locked the door, Q muttered, “Both of you, be — _oh._ ”

James turned to see that Q had slid down the wall to collapse into a pile of long limbs and blankets, and two tiny balls of fluff were trying to climb onto his lap. With the sort of gentle touch usually reserved for micro-soldering, Q scooped them up, one at a time, and deposited them in the nest formed by his crossed legs.

“Oh, James...” he said, staring down at the kittens with a silly smile.

 _Bugger._ They were goners. Once Q became engaged with something, he didn’t let go. That was exactly how James got to be where he was at that moment. Not that James wanted Q to get tired of him, but the tenacity of Q’s interest from the start had been the main reason a relationship had seemed possible.

He crouched down to Q’s level and watched the kittens scaling the duvet like tiny, downy mountain climbers. “We can’t, love. I’m never home, and your schedule is erratic, to say the least.”

“But they’re _so tiny_.” Q’s voice was light, his expression betraying just how enchanted he was. “They can’t be more than five — Oh, fetch that one under the table, will you?” he asked, scooping up another kitten and using it to point towards the foyer table where they kept their keys, comms devices, and a spare gun holstered behind the hideous statue that could serve as a bludgeon in a pinch.

James grabbed what he counted as number four and brought it back to Q’s lap, trying not to wince as needle-sharp claws dug into his palm. “They won’t be tiny for long, Q, darling.”

Q raised an eyebrow at him. “Obviously not. We’ll find homes for some of them, once they’re old enough to be separated from their mother and have a bit of personality.” He looked back down at the kittens, and that smile returned. “Find the rest, will you? Oh, and tip the box over — _gently_ — so the mother can get out easily. She’s probably still nursing.”

Sighing in resignation, James muttered, “We don’t even know how many there are. How can I find ‘the rest’?”

He leaned over the box to look inside before tipping it and saw a bony orange and white cat curled up in a ball. It looked like she needed a week of high-calorie meals, a warm spot to sleep, and maybe a spa vacation — much like Q usually looked after running a difficult mission. She lifted her head and blinked sleepy gold eyes at him.

“Do we have any tins of tuna? Or should I start with a saucer of milk?” James asked as he reached a cautious hand into the box for the mum to smell. He’d grown up with dogs. The only cat at Skyfall was a half-feral tom that spent most of his time outdoors hunting rodents. Kittens were a new phenomenon.

The cat made a noise like a dying computer fan — something that was all too familiar in James’ life, thanks to the time he now spent in Q Branch — and bumped her head against his hand. Without knowing quite how it happened, he found himself gently scratching at her cheekbone, then under her chin. Trustingly, she rested her head on his hand to press against his scratches, and her eyes fell closed.

“Both are terrible ideas,” Q said. “Can you ring down to the building concierge and ask for some tins of wet kitten food? Not dry. They’ve hardly got any teeth at all just yet. Isn’t that right?”

James glanced back to see Q had scooped up a kitten and brought it up to his face so they were almost nose-to-nose. The kitten reached out a tiny paw and touched Q’s cheek with a _meep_ sound. James sighed, feeling a shock of certainty that the longer these little monsters stayed, the fewer of them they’d end up giving away.

“Not for them; for mum. Zed said the babies are still nursing.” James gave the cat’s chin one last good scratch, then slowly tipped the box on its side so Q could meet her.

“Hello, love,” Q said gently, reaching out with his free hand to let the mum sniff. “Damn. James, she’s so thin... I need to look this up. I don’t want her taking ill. I thought adult animals can no longer digest milk properly?”

If James had learned anything in the past few months, it was that the phrase ‘I need to look this up’ meant Q wouldn’t sleep or eat for a day as he followed up every research thread he could possibly find on a subject. Hoping to nip that impetus in the bud, he crowded close and kissed Q’s neck, saying, “Let me look into it. You go back to sleep, and we’ll talk it through in the morning.”

Q’s purr was distressingly similar to the mother-cat’s. “No, look. They’re all so comfortable,” he said, nodding down at the kittens sleeping in his lap. “Just round up the rest of them, then bring me my mobile? But we will need somewhere they can sleep without getting into trouble. The guest bath should suit. No cables to chew, and if they mess, it’s easy to clean up.”

“Not very warm, with all that tile and porcelain. Should we give them towels to nest in? We can spare a couple.” James nuzzled the warm spot behind Q’s ear then stood up to start hunting for stray kittens. “Or do you just want me to bring you pillows to curl up with them right there?”

“Towels. They’ll sleep better with just their mother, I think. Oh, maybe a spare blanket instead? I’ll take off work tomorrow to stay with them. And I can put in a same-day order for necessities, like a litter box,” Q said enthusiastically.

James spotted a kitten attacking the tasselled edge of the rug. “Q. Sleep. That’s what tomorrow was supposed to be for. You promised to minimise sleep dep fallout, remember?” When Tanner had figured out that Q and James were sleeping together he’d kept the information to himself for the sole reason that Q’s sleep schedule evened out somewhat. A well-rested Quartermaster was better than one who completed projects ahead of schedule but couldn’t coherently explain them due to near-toxic levels of caffeine in his blood.

When James deposited the kitten in the nest with the rest of them, Q gave him a smile. “I promise, I’m coming straight to bed, as soon as you round up the rest, call the concierge, and get the bathroom straightened out. Though I should stay up for whenever they get us kitten food. But I can also do my research until then.” He beamed at James as if this were a logical victory of some kind.

 _Right._ No arguing with someone who made no sense. James had his work cut out for him if he was going to get Q back to sleep before four a.m. He kissed Q’s forehead, then headed straight for the bedroom to put his gun away and round up both of their mobiles. He called the desk downstairs as he found towels to pad the guest bathtub, then searched the flat for any more living fluffballs.

A few minutes later he set two more kittens into Q’s lap and handed over his mobile, saying, “Hopefully the food will arrive in fifteen or twenty minutes. Do any of you need anything until then?” He couldn’t help peeking into the box to check on mum, wishing there was something in the house to give her now.

“You need pants, love,” Q said, giving James the fond smile that had so far been used solely on the kittens. Then he held out a loose fold of the blanket — one not occupied — and invited, “Or did you want to join me here?”

James immediately took advantage of the offer of warmth and comfort tucked up against Q, even if it meant closer proximity to all the tiny, needle-clad terrors. He didn’t want to imagine the dangers he’d face down for a smile like that.

He hummed in Q’s ear while pressing up against his side. “No pants until absolutely necessary.”

Q turned to press an awkward, sideways kiss to the edge of his jaw. “I don’t want you getting cold. Or stabbed somewhere important.” He brushed his fingers over the kittens so softly, he barely stirred their fur.

“Budge over and stop hogging the blanket then,” James teased with a fond grin.

“I’m sorry this happened in the middle of the night, but... well, my brother’s sort of like a summer thunderstorm. Always unexpected, and usually something catches fire.”

“I’ll admit being woken by a supposed burglar at two in the morning doesn’t give me much preparation for a ‘meet the family’ interaction, but you didn’t need to _hide_ him from me.”

“I wasn’t _hiding_ him so much as... well, trying to find a day when he could be more generally civilised than he normally is,” Q said sheepishly. “I love him dearly, but meeting him for the first time really is like getting a bucket of ice cubes dumped on one’s head in the middle of winter: extra-shocking on top of an already-bracing situation. And there’s no _possible_ location on the planet where you and he could associate without one of you getting thrown out for being out of place.”

James wrapped his arms around Q’s bare waist under the blanket and watched one of the spiky little fluffballs attack the moving fabric. “I’m a secret agent, Q. I can blend in. And I can’t think of a more awkward situation than being in the buff with a gun in hand as he broke into our flat.”

Q smiled fondly. “Oh, that’s not awkward at all for him. I’m... actually not sure anything could be _awkward_ for him. He’s very aggressively himself, no matter what’s going on around him. But anyway, that’s my twin brother. Thank you for not shooting him.”

“Your twin?” It came out before James could stop it. Of course they were twins. That was the only explanation for why James had felt like he’d stepped into the twilight zone. Why James hadn’t thought of it before was the real surprise. “Right. Well, I’ll do my best not to shoot him next time, as well.”

“Oh, no. Feel free, next time. He’s had his one warning.” Q snuggled as close as he could, without dislodging the nest of kittens. They all blended together in a haze of orange and white, paws and noses, and tails and ears. “What shall we name them?”

 _Danger._ Naming would lead directly to emotional attachment, which would lead to adopting all seven. Eight with mum. “Snow White and the seven dwarfs? Or the numbers one through eight?”

“You’re awful,” Q accused, though he drew it out with a yawn. “We should start moving them into the bathroom. We’ll need a water bowl. And oh, did the concierge agree to get wet kitten food? I’d imagine it’s an odd request.”

James winced as he extricated himself from both Q and the kitten-laden blanket. “I mentioned wet food for certain, but it’s the middle of the night, love. I didn’t think being picky would be to our advantage.” Privately, he didn’t understand what the difference could be, but he wasn’t about to mention that to a sleepy over-protective Q. Besides, the concierge was already overly cautious with them due to other middle-of-the-night requests they’d made in the past.

“Useful, being in a building with a concierge,” Q approved, worming his arms under the blanket. He gathered the kittens close, then stood carefully, trying to support the whole bundle. A chorus of _meeps_ sounded, but Q seemed to have things in hand. “Could you carry their mum? No sense in making her walk, poor dear.”

“Of course.” As Q stepped away with the babies, the mum peeked out of the box. James crouched down and held his hand out to her once again. She pushed against him immediately, and he risked her ire by slowly and gently picking her up and cradling her in his arms. It seemed much easier than coaxing her back into the box and carrying the whole thing, then trying to coax her out again on the other end. Her front claws dug into his shoulder as she tried to look around, but otherwise she seemed content to accept the ride. The poor thing really was all skin and bones, and James wondered at the best way to find a reputable veterinarian to check her out. Or maybe he could just bring her to Medical. They were always chasing him down for tests and examinations, so they obviously had time on their hands.

Q was on the bathroom floor, transferring kittens from his arms to the nest of towels that James had made. “I suppose Mum’s litter-trained, but newspaper should do. Now I’m glad you keep that outdated paper subscription,” he said, giving James a radiant smile over one shoulder.

“You’re glad to steal the weekend crossword from me, too,” James groused good-naturedly. Nothing could actually annoy him when Q looked at him like that. He very gently set Mum into the bathtub, letting her sniff around and watch curiously as her babies were brought to her one by one.

“Mmm, you’re not terrible at the crossword yourself,” Q said, smile turning sly. His strength was in programming, not linguistics, and he always did seem to enjoy it when James stepped in to assist. “Water bowl, makeshift litter box, then join me on the sofa until we can feed Mum?”

“Yes, Quartermaster.” James caught himself thinking about flowers as he kissed the top of Q’s head and went to the kitchen to finish outfitting the feline family. Mums were a sort of flower, but the mother wasn’t so sturdy as those. She was more of a daisy — delicate and tiny and seemingly unwanted.

 _Damn._ Now that James had thought of a name for her, he wouldn’t be able to think of her as anything else. It was a habit — a mnemonic device he used when doing surveillance. He’d assign names to the recurring faces to keep them straight in his head.

He filled a bowl with water and took it to the bathroom, then found a shipping box and grabbed a couple editions of the _Telegraph_ to take to the living room, where Q had nested on the sofa, wrapped up in the blanket.

“Here, help me shred,” he said as he dropped the papers into Q’s lap and set the box at their feet before sitting down.

“We have a perfectly good shredder” — Q cut off, then laughed softly — “which we shouldn’t use at this hour, hmm?”

James nodded. “And of course I emptied it to go in the rubbish bin this week.” He picked the travel section off Q’s lap and started tearing it into pieces, then tossing them into the box. “Besides, newsprint will be softer on Daisy’s paws than A4.”

Q blinked at him. “Daisy?”

 _Bugger._ That was the deathknell of a cat-free future. “The mum. She’s not a mum; she’s a daisy. Never mind.” James concentrated on tearing paper so as to not look at Q’s face, thought there was no escaping his laugh.

“That’s adorable,” Q said, dropping a handful of newsprint into the box so he could give James’ knee a squeeze. “Daisy. I like that. Should we get her a collar and a tag? Do you collar cats? I suppose we should, in case she gets out.”

 _“No.”_ James tried desperately to put his foot down, though he was certain it was a lost cause. “She won’t get out. It’s not safe. The alarm system...”

“Still, in case she does... At the very least, it’ll let the neighbours know she’s ours.” Q beamed at him, then went back to shredding. “Besides, if we don’t, knowing Zed, he’ll give us a box of black studded collars with four rings on them, and that’s not appropriate for young kittens.”

James felt himself losing a battle he wasn’t sure he wanted to win. It irritated him more than the situation warranted. “We’re not keeping them, so Zed can keep his collars. And what sort of name is Zed, anyway?”

“We’re keeping _Daisy_ ,” Q said pointedly. “And at least some of the kittens. As for Zed, it’s the letter ‘Z’, not z-e-d.”

“What? Did he feel left out when you started going by Q? Is that a twin thing?” James knew he needed to pull back on the snark, but it had been a long night.

A hint of colour blossomed in Q’s cheeks, and he focused intently on ripping through the newspaper. “He was Z first. I... well, I couldn’t be _Major_ anything, because I don’t have a military background. And when I met M, I was — well, I was bloody _terrified_ and said something stupid about ‘I suppose I’m Q now’ and it just... stuck.”

James’ face softened and he nudged Q with his shoulder. “It’s a perfect name for you. If M allowed it, you know she was chuffed — took it as a compliment. But how did Z come about then?”

Q shot James a cagey look, then shrugged, falsely casual. “Oh, he’s been Z forever.”

Considering Q was the Quartermaster of MI6, he really was a terrible liar. James chose to let it go, however, because family wasn’t something to pry about. Z was Z, and that was all James needed to know. “Right. Well, if you think I’m ready, I’d be willing to meet him again, preferably with clothes on and without a gun or loads of kittens involved.”

“He’ll probably insist on coming over to make certain we’re taking care of the kittens.” Q’s smile returned, and he bumped his shoulder against James’. “He doesn’t look it, but he can be very sweet and protective. Of course, he also bites.”

“Should we make sure _he’s_ had his shots, along with the babies?” James lifted an eyebrow cheekily at Q. There was no way he’d get within biting distance of Z any time soon in any case.

Q laughed and, as he shredded the next handful of paper, leaned over to press a kiss to James’ jaw. “You’re not his type, love, so you’re safe. He won’t bite _you_.”

“One hopes I’d be safe because I’m yours and for no other reason,” James dialed back the stern look on his face so as not to seem judgmental, and continued shredding.

“Speaking of ‘safe’, I looked it up, and they should probably get their first vaccinations in a week or two, by what I read.” Q nodded at the mobile on the coffee table. “Then again at ten weeks and every three weeks until nineteen.”

“Christ. What if I’m on mission? How will you get seven kittens to the vet at once?” James started to worry this was too much for Q to deal with on top of running Q Branch and being the lead on a good number of Double O missions, especially James’ — by his own insistence.

“I’ll task 006 to help. Consider it repayment for coming over here twice a month and raiding our refrigerator,” Q said dryly, though he couldn’t quite hide his amused smile.

James knew Q was fond of Alec — and vice versa, thankfully — but he wasn’t sold on the idea. “I doubt he has the patience for that, even if it means helping you out. And for God’s sake, don’t let Alec and Z in the same place ever. At least not without me there and fully armed.”

Q’s eyes went wide and distant. “Oh. No, that would be terrible,” he said with a startled blink, then shook his head. “I’ll ask Eve to help. She’s at least sane. And maybe she’ll want to adopt one.”

“Or three,” James murmured. Eve was safe. She cared about Q and respected him and didn’t hold grudges. Also, it was true that she was the only sane person they knew. “She’d be a great cat mum. We can give her a bouquet of kittens.”

Q laughed and elbowed James. “They’d never sit still long enough to pretend. Besides, they’re probably best rehomed in pairs. This way, they have company without overcrowding anyone’s home. Oh, and Tanner. Tanner and his wife would love kittens, don’t you think? And maybe Gareth, now that his eldest has gone off to uni.”

“I will not give M kittens. That’s beyond the scope of our relationship. And Cynthia Tanner will either love you or hate you for pawning some off onto Bill. Because you know he’s too soft to say no.” James finished shredding his last section of paper and contemplated the idea of a bouquet of kittens. “What if we named them all after flowers?”

“Like Nightshade and Belladonna? I like that.”

“Erm... I was thinking Lily and Violet, but whatever you like. Bella is a beautiful name. And Shady isn’t bad for a cat...” James couldn’t tell if it were the lateness of the hour or the complete absurdity of eight cats in their bathroom, but somehow this conversation didn’t seem odd.

With a huff that sounded amused, Q leaned down and picked up the box. He gave it a shake to distribute the shredded newspaper. “Actually, you’re right about M. Two for Eve, two for Tanner, and that leaves three for us, plus Daisy. We can’t separate them all from their Mum, after all.” He stood up, shedding the blanket to reveal pale skin and long limbs. “I’ll just give this to Daisy and make sure they’re all settled in comfortably.”

 _Four cats?_ That was too many for two people in a three bedroom flat. Especially when much of the time it was three people, what with Alec’s periodic stints in the extra bedroom. For a moment, James wished Alec was allergic. “Two for us.” He reached up to touch Q’s bare shoulder, then slid his palm down Q’s back, revelling in the curve of his lower spine and the roundness of his arse, and continuing down the back of his leg.

“It’s mathematically unsound. Seven kittens. Two for Tanner, two for Eve, and that leaves three. We could give two to Gareth or someone else, but that leaves only Daisy and one kitten, and she’s their mum. We’d be best with two kittens and Daisy, but only if Tanner or Eve wants three instead of two. Otherwise, we’ll have to keep three, and Daisy makes four.” Q leaned down and stretched over the makeshift litter box to silently ask for a kiss.

James leaned in until their mouths were a breath apart, then said, “Two _including_ Daisy,” before kissing Q softly.

“Unless Eve or Tanner don’t want a third.” Q straightened up and spun away. “Bring in the food when the concierge comes, please?”

“With pleasure.” James smiled and stared at Q’s arse as he walked away. Then he realised he needed to put on clothes before the concierge showed up, so he stood to head to the bedroom. He knew the moment he took a step that he would detour to the guest bath to look in on Q with the cats.

 _Their_ cats. Dammit.

They were Agent 007 and the Quartermaster of MI6, defenders of Her Majesty’s interests and the Commonwealth, and they’d just become _those nice gay boys with all the cats_.


End file.
